"You should thank your lucky stars that you have them," Sophie said, her voice more forceful than it had been all afternoon. "I'd give anything for--" But she didn't finish her sentence. "You'd give anything for what?" Benedict asked, surprised by how much he wanted to hear her answer. She gazed soulfully out the window as she replied, "To have a family like yours." "You have no one," he said, his words a statement, not a question. "I've never had anyone." "Not even your--" And then he remembered that she'd slipped and told him that her mother had died at her birth. "Sometimes," he said, keeping his voice purposefully light and gentle, "it's not so easy being a Bridgerton." Her head slowly turned around. "I can't imagine anything nicer." "There isn't anything nicer," he replied, "but that doesn't mean it's always easy." "What do you mean?" And Benedict found himself giving voice to feelings he'd never shared with any other living soul, not even-- no, especially not his family. "To most of the world," he said, "I'm merely a Bridgerton. I'm not Benedict or Ben or even a gentleman of means and hopefully a bit of intelligence. I'm merely"-- he smiled ruefully--" a Bridgerton. Specifically, Number Two." Her lips trembled, then they smiled. "You're much more than that," she said. "I'd like to think so, but most of the world doesn't see it that way." "Most of the world are fools." He laughed at that. There was nothing more fetching than Sophie with a scowl. "You will not find disagreement here," he said."